


Resistance

by china_shop



Category: White Collar
Genre: Angst, Episode Related, Fic, Gen, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-25
Updated: 2010-10-25
Packaged: 2017-10-12 21:17:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/129157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/china_shop/pseuds/china_shop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were a lot of reasons to hate Peter. / Episode tag for 2.09</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resistance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [norgbelulah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/norgbelulah/gifts).



The gun was solid in Neal's hand, cocked and steady, aimed at the dead center of Peter's chest. Peter, the immovable object, in a cream suit and sunglasses. Peter, who seemed barely aware of Neal's fury.

"I could kill you," said Neal, his voice distant and hoarse.

Peter laughed, and sunlight flashed off his shades. "Go ahead and shoot. You'll be doing me a favor."

Neal's hand started to shake. He didn't even know why, but God, he itched to squeeze the trigger, to destroy, to get Peter the hell out of his life before they—

"Neal!"

The room blurred at the sound of Elizabeth's cry. He forced himself to keep the gun trained on Peter.

"Neal, don't do this." She sounded frightened. "Please, Neal. This isn't who you are."

"You don't know who I am," said Neal without looking around. "You don't know anything about me." But the room in the Russian Museum was distorting, shrinking, resolving into a plane, and Elizabeth was in the seat by the door, belted in. Neal was too far away. He couldn't remember why he had to get her out of there; he just knew there was no time, he had to save her _now_. But Peter was holding him back. No, Peter was shoving him aside, was tearing up the steps of the plane.

The plane burst into searing blinding heat and shrapnel, throwing Neal back. He clambered to his knees, the tarmac grazing his palms, his lungs full of smoke and the raw taste of fuel. Peter and Elizabeth were gone—

He woke drenched in sweat, gasping, his mouth and throat dry. It was dark. Mozzie was snoring on the couch. No, wait, Moz was in the hospital, unconscious but stable. Who was—Peter? Peter was on the couch. Right. Security detail. Peter was playing bodyguard.

Neal gave himself sixty seconds to hate Peter—for being in control; for stopping Neal from wiping Fowler off the face of the earth; for the sheer hypocrisy of saying that Neal would regret it, when it was no more than Peter himself had done. Peter had shot Fowler the day of the explosion, and did that make _him_ a killer? At the Aphrodite Escorts' hotel, Diana had admitted that Peter hadn't known Fowler was wearing a vest that day.

And there were so many more reasons to hate Peter: for catching Neal in the first place; for his ordinary boring life with the beautiful Elizabeth; for being one step ahead of Neal throughout the whole music box heist, but not far enough ahead that he'd been able to save Kate; for working his way into Neal's head, with his caution and respectability, so that whenever Neal embarked on any unauthorized scheme now, he had to ignore Peter's sanctimonious Jiminy Cricket voice telling him how stupid he was being; for that smile that was never anything but genuine. How could a man get to his mid-forties without learning to fake a smile? It was incomprehensible, and it always made Neal feel—

Time was up. Neal bundled up his resentment and anger, and tucked them away in a dark corner. He took some deep deliberate breaths, got up silently and dug clean pajamas out of his tallboy, and changed quickly. He went to the bathroom and relieved himself, then washed his face and drank a few mouthfuls of water from his cupped hand. By then, his pulse had calmed and his eyes were heavy again. He padded back to bed and flipped the pillow to find a cool patch.

Sleep came slowly, but Peter's snoring was steady and, after a while, oddly soothing. Despite everything, Neal was almost smiling by the time he drifted off. Sometimes it was easier to hate someone than to acknowledge the alternative. Sometimes, no matter how complicated or inconvenient, the alternative was inescapable.


End file.
